Druid Surrender (A Druid Quest Novel Book 1) (17 page)

* * *

A
fter enlisting mother’s help
, Wyatt had been so jubilant that he failed to check the hall when he exited. Angelica turned in a twirl of skirts. Her frustrated expression melted into delight, and she pounced on him before the latch clicked shut. That she had been waiting for him, he had no doubt.

He had no one else to blame but himself.

“I am so glad I ran into you.” Weaving her arm through his, she pressed her breasts against him, and smiled up at him through her lashes. A slender hand rested on his upper arm, and she squeezed gently…or perhaps she was setting in her claws. “It’s been ages since I saw the whole house. You’ve had it redecorated. Would you mind terribly granting me a tour?”

A toxic cloud of perfume invaded his lungs in a suffocating wave. All he wanted to do was shake her off and find Brighid. “I have papers—”

“Wonderful! I knew you wouldn’t turn me away. I’ve always loved this house. Do you remember running down this hall when you were a child? I can imagine you, such a cute little boy.” She gave him a coy look from under her lashes. “Michael loved visiting.”

Wyatt’s felt his eyes glaze over. He heard all the old stories at least a dozen times. They went through half the house, the church, and he was bored out of his bloody mind while she continued to prattle. As if she sensed his preoccupation, she spoke louder and flirted harder. Patience at an end, Wyatt pulled to a stop. “Angelica—”

“Oh, is this new?” She touched the vase, running her fingers lightly over the design. “It’s a very good Ming copy.”

Wyatt blinked. “It
is
a Ming.”

Her laughter trilled down the hall, dancing along his nerves like the screech of a cat in heat. “It’s so unique it must be worth a fortune.”

“What?” Annoyed with himself for falling into her conversational trap, he turned to study the vase, but she’d already started down the hall. Since their arms were linked, he ended up jerking her to a halt when he didn’t immediately follow. Her grip loosened, and, with a sigh of relief, he watched her talons drop away from his arm.

Not willing to be recaptured, he reached for the vase, but halted inches from it in confusion.

It appeared to be upside down.

Only it wasn’t.

This was his vase; he recognized the crackled design. He tipped it sideways to see what should have been the top, and sure enough, the hole was sealed off. He eased the delicate porcelain upright.

He wanted to say it was a masterful copy, but the artist mark was an exact match. Could someone be playing a trick on him? But how? The vase was thousands of years old. No one could age a copy that well.

“Wyatt?”

He winced at the breathy way she stretched out his name, and he froze, afraid to move lest she interpret it as encouragement.

A door opened down the hall, and he turned.

“Johnson.”

The servant paused in the act of carrying a tray down the hall. “Sir?”

Wyatt waved a hand to the vase, unwilling to let the mystery drop. “Have this delivered to my room when you’re finished.”

“Right away, sir.” With a bow, he departed.

As if roused by the noise, a second door down the hall opened, and he spotted his sister peering into the hall like a nervous mouse. He narrowed his eyes, ready for some retribution, his lips twitching in a mockery of a smile. “Lydia!”

She gave a start at his bellow, pausing in the midst of slamming her door shut. When she met his gaze, he knew he had her. Manners prevented her from retreating. He wanted to rub his hands together in sadistic pleasure. Tiny lines fanned out from her eyes as she narrowed them in his direction, and he knew he could expect to have his bed short-sheeted for the next week.

It was worth it.

She shuffled closer, and his smile grew.

“I was just explaining to Angelica that I have quite a bit of estate work to complete. Why don’t you finish the tour of the house?” Wyatt walked away, his boot heels thundering down the stairs in his hurry to escape, pretending deafness when the women called after him. He slammed the door to his study and leaned against it, ready to hold it shut by force if they dared try to follow. When their voices gradually faded, he heaved a sigh of relief.

“Is she gone?” Aaron chuckled even as he said it.

Wyatt closed his eyes and thumped the back of his head against the door. “Yes, thank God. I tell you, I don’t know how much longer I can keep dodging her. I’ve been relegated to sneaking food to avoid being spotted. I sleep with one eye open for fear the brazen hussy will slip into my room at night.”

“When does her brother return?”

Wyatt shoved away from the door, heading straight toward the sideboard and poured himself a generous amount of brandy. He inhaled deeply, the smell settling his nerves. “I don’t know. Not bloody soon enough. Next time you see her, and she has me in her sights, you can ask.” He tossed back the full drink, grimacing when the liquor seared a path down his throat. The warmth spread and he gasped, slamming the glass down with a clatter. “At this rate, we’ll run out of brandy.”

“Were you not the one who said brandy was to be savored, not guzzled like ale?” Aaron’s sardonic voice brought back memories of their first case in a small, seedy inn nearly ten years ago.

He raised a brow and replied as Aaron had so many years ago. “Yes, but these are trying times.” A tired sigh escaped, and he dropped into the chair, placing his elbows on the desk. “I want to visit Brighid.”

“She’s resting.”

Wyatt snapped straight at Aaron’s mild tone, searching his friend’s face for answers. “You saw her? How did she look? Did she—”

“I visited this morning, but she was sleeping. I talked with that little maid of hers when she answered the door.”

“Trudy. Tenacious little terrier, that one. She won’t even let
me
enter.” Wyatt grunted, slumping back into the chair. He’d known he would regret placing a lock on that blasted door.

“What you need is a distraction. If we head out to the village now, we can put in a full day of work before they lock down for the evening.”

Wyatt perked up. “It could take a while. It’s a shame that we’ll miss lunch, but I guess we can eat at the tavern again.”

Aaron chuckled. “Avoidance will only get you so far, my friend.”

Wyatt scowled and shoved to his feet. “I think you’re getting far too much amusement out of this situation.”

“Oh, now come. The ladies’ man of London trapped in a house with one woman chasing him, while the woman he married does her damnedest to avoid him?” Aaron shook his head in mock pity.

Wyatt’s stride hitched at the comment, and his stomach jumped up his throat so fast speaking became near impossible. “Is she?”

“Of course.” Aaron slapped him on the back and directed him out the door. “You said she was smart, but I think you underestimated her. She’s removed the biggest threat to her…temptation. She’s essentially has you hobbled. Your charm is the most effective weapon in your arsenal, but it’s useless if you can’t get close enough to use it. You’ll have to start fighting back if you want to win the war.”

T
he door could not be locked
.

Brighid yanked on the handle, but it refused to budge.

“No.” She pounded on the massive oak door for a minute before admitting defeat. No one would hear her. A quick search revealed the only other exit was sealed from the outside.

The temperature continued to drop so dramatically her breath began to fog the air.

Besides spending an uncomfortable few hours, she would be fine. Trudy would notice she was missing, but it galled her to have to be rescued again.

Grabbing her staff, she called on her magic.

Not even a twinge responded, as if she’d used the last of her reserve fixing the stained glass.

She walked back toward the door, knelt and studied the lock. The key was gone from the other side. It must have fallen out when the door was closed. It looked like she’d have to do it the old-fashioned way…by picking the lock.

Carefully twisting her hairpin, she slipped the slender metal into the lock. When the tumblers slipped for the third time, she kicked the door in frustration. Pain shot up her leg, and she cursed loud and long, cradling her foot.

“Hello?”

“In here.” Brighid rushed forward, pounding on the wood. “I am in here.”

She pressed her ear against the door and waited, fearful that she’d imagined the tiny voice.

“This is Trudy, miss. I’ll go fetch help.”

“No, just open the door. The key should be on the floor. It must have fallen out.” The last thing she wanted to do was draw Wyatt’s attention.

Silence answered her on the other side of the door. Just when Brighid feared Trudy had left, she spoke. “There is no key. I cannot budge the door. It’s too heavy.”

Disappointment slumped her shoulders. “Find Beth. She’ll know where the extra set of keys are stored.”

After Trudy’s retreat, Brighid closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax. She sat on one of the benches, blew on her fingers, trying to work the stiffness out of them while she fought to stay awake.

With the key mysteriously absent, Brighid had no doubt that Angelica locked her in here on purpose so she could spend an afternoon with Wyatt.

The twit.

But she’d also given Brighid just the ammunition she needed.

Brighid had enough.

No more standing back.

Brighid tipped her head back against the bench and plotted ways to take Angelica down a peg or two.

* * *

W
yatt paced the parlor
, jumping at any sound from the hall. He was conscious of Mother and Aaron watching him, that he was making a fool of himself, but he didn’t give a damn. Brighid would be down for supper today for the first time since they’d become husband and wife. It has only been a few days, but he missed her. When the door burst open, Wyatt whirled and tugged on his jacket, suddenly anxious. His smile wilted when Trudy stumbled to an abrupt halt as if her feet had taken root. He peered behind her then sagging in disappointment.

No Brighid.

“Beth…Um…Lady Castelline, may I speak to you in private?”

Trudy wrung her hands, a wild look in her eyes that had him straightening in alarm. When his mother rose, Wyatt grabbed her arm and detained her.

“Is this about
my
wife
?” He loomed over the girl, hoping to intimidate the maid into answering. The color left her so dramatically he feared she would keel over. When she swayed, he knew he’d guessed correctly. The feeling of something being wrong had plagued him all day. He’d thought it was because of Angelica. He should have known better. “Where is she?”

“She’s stuck in the chapel, and I can’t get the door open.” The words left her in a jumbled rush.

Wyatt froze for a second, sure he misunderstood. “Excuse me?”

“Brighid—”

That’s all he needed to hear. Wyatt dodged around the girl and raced out of the room, his boot heels ringing on the floor. He shoved past Lydia and Angelica, not even hearing their cries of outrage as he took the stairs three at a time.

There were only two entrances to the chapel. One was sealed from outside, the other on the second level of the house.

He bolted down the hall, barely hearing Aaron’s boots pounding behind him over the thud of his heart. At the chapel doors, he didn’t pause to catch his breath, but yanked on the heavily carved handles.

The doors held firm.

It made no sense. The chapel was always open. Glancing down, he saw the key was conspicuously absent. It had been rusted in place for years, meaning someone had deliberately trapped his wife. Rage erupted, and he used the force of his ire to slam his shoulder against the wood.

The solid door held firm, as if taunting him, and he seethed at being denied. Brighid could be hurt or bleeding out while he stood dithering about like a fool.

He whirled on the crowd that had gathered, his attention latching onto the housekeeper as she waddled down the hall. She groped for the belt at her waist, fumbling with the keys in search for the correct one.

He lunged forward and seized the keys, snapping the cord with one hard yank. Metal jangled as he flipped through the massive set. Time slowed. It seemed to take forever to locate the correct one.

His fingers shook as he jammed the key into the lock. With a vicious twist, he heard the tumblers fall. Thrusting his shoulder against the door, he forced his way into the chapel and froze mid-step when he saw Brighid’s huddled figure slumped on the unforgiving pews.

He shrugged off his paralysis, his chest so tight he couldn’t get enough air. Dropping to his knees, he brushed his fingers along her jaw, exhaling loudly when he found her warm. The terror threatening to consume his soul eased back a fraction, enough to allow his brain to start functioning again—she had just fallen asleep and hadn’t been murdered as he’d imagined.

“Wyatt?” Brighid blinked up at him and smiled, brushing her cheek against his hand before her eyes slid closed once again. He swallowed hard at the welcoming smile.

It crushed him to realize that if she’d been awake, she would never have granted it to him.

She had the power to addle him with just one look.

He feared one touch would slay him.

He craved the intimacy between man and wife, the same devotion his parents had shared. He’d messed up, but he would remedy that. But first, he needed to get her out of there and get her warm.

“Wyatt?” Aaron placed a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s fine, just exhausted.” With the utmost care, he gathered her in his arms and stood. “Grab her staff.”

Wyatt marched out into the hall. Ignoring the questions pelting him, he hurried down the corridor and thrust open the door to his room.

Lydia touched his arm and gave him a pointed look. “Her room is down the hall.”

He halted with one foot over the threshold. “Mine is closer.”

Making sure not to jostle Brighid, he gently placed her on the bed then bundled her under the covers. He wanted to crawl into bed with her, desperate to assure himself that she was all right. He turned to find Aaron on his knees in front of the fireplace, leaning over to light the kindling while half a dozen others just milled about doing nothing.

“Everyone out.” The bustle inside the room stopped instantly, everyone turning to him in confusion.

Someone had broken into his house.

Brighid could have been taken from his life forever.

They had been lucky.

Again.

What would happen when that luck ran out?

“Get. Out.” His roar echoed in the spacious room and blasted out into the hall, and the servants quailed. Everyone in the room flinched, bumping into one another in their haste to escape.

The last to leave, Aaron nodded and secured the door behind him.

The near miss left Wyatt jittery, unable to sit still. The only thing that calmed him was finally having Brighid in his bed.

It demolished what little control he managed to scrape together, and he found himself drawn closer. He inhaled deeply, and the light smell of jasmine filled his heart as he stared down at her. Even under the mound of covers, he could see her shivering. Unable to resist touching her, he reached over and rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers, marveling at the silken texture. A single curl wrapped around his finger as if inviting him closer.

An internal debate on propriety ensured, but he quickly dismissed it and stripped.

The fire had warmed the room, but not fast enough. Of the many times he thought of getting into bed with his wife for the first time over the past few days, this was not how he imagined it.

He pulled back the covers and settled in beside her. The blankets became stifling in an instant. Pushing his dangerously tempting thoughts aside, he gathered Brighid into his arms. Chilled skin burned wherever they touched, and he inhaled sharply at the shock of it. His arms tightened while he waited for her to wake and demand that he leave.

After a moment, she did the most amazing thing.

She cuddled closer.

For the first time in years, contentment settled over him, and he kissed the top of her head. Only then did the gut-wrenching fear dissipate. Leaving room for another emotion—a furious anger that wouldn’t be appeased.

When he got his hands on the man who’d done this, he would choke the life out of him.

Bile rose at the back of his throat at the thought that someone had walked into his house—all the way up to the second floor—undetected. What type of man could not protect his family in his own home?

Brighid shifted, pressing her curves against him, until every inch of her was imprinted on his brain. Thoughts of vengeance vanished when his body hardened in response to her unconscious invitation. His hands clamped down on her hips, and he wasn’t convinced whether he was actually holding her in place or preventing her from moving again and driving him utterly insane.

What was more frightening…she brought him to his knees without even being aware of it.

Sweat broke out on his brow as he forced his hand away from temptation. His body cried out in protest, the separation a physical ache that gutted him. If he’d used a little forethought, he would never have removed his trousers. The last thing he needed was for Brighid to wake feeling his blatant arousal pressed against her backside.

The shivers that raked her body had tapered off, and he vowed to leave when they stopped.

The alluring scent of jasmine ensnared him.

Urged him closer.

It took all his willpower to shift onto his back. He lay rigid while struggling for control. When he would have left the bed, she rolled closer and nestled against his shoulder, and he had no more will left to move, his common sense completely demolished by the simple trust she granted him while she slept. He bowed his head, nuzzling the side of her neck, placing a reverent kiss on the exposed skin.

Lightly.

Barely a caress.

He meant to pull back, but she tilted her head, encouraging him to explore further.

His mind gave up the battle without a fight. The stifling heat in the room faded as a fire of a different sort curled through him, and he pulled Brighid closer so she would burn with him. He nibbled at her neck, slipping his arms around her waist.

When her skin warmed under his lips, he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of doing this much sooner. He skimmed his hands higher, his fingers brushing the undersides of her breasts, and she arched into his touch, begging for more. Against his will, his hips flexed into her luscious curves, and he silently cursed the clothing that still separated them.

His questing fingers found no buttons or ribbons to undo, and a groan of frustration rasped against his throat. “Wyatt?”

Her sleepy voice brought him to his senses.

What the hell was he doing? She might be reacting to his touch, but he wanted their first time with her to be special—he wanted her to be awake and aware and know exactly what he was doing to her. Eager for his touch.

He didn’t want to seduce her.

He wanted her to choose him.

“Go back to sleep.” His voice was gruff, and he tucked the covers tighter around her.

She gave a sleepy nod and obediently relaxed back into slumber.

It took a conscious effort to release her. He inched away, barely biting back a groan as his body throbbed in denial, and regretfully left the bed.

She was warm enough. She needed food and water, not the pawing of a lustful husband. Wonder bloomed in his heart as he gazed down at the woman who so captivated him. He’d believed that after working in the war office, his life would be monotonous, that he’d be bored out of his mind with mundane life.

He studied her in fascination, no longer worried about boredom with her in his life. As he watched, she gave a sigh and snuggled into the spot he just left…as if she missed him. He curled his hands into fists to curb the urge to crawl back into bed. She might not know it—refused to admit it—but she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

But before they could settle down into wedded bliss, he had to find a killer.

In the meantime, he would enlist his mother’s help to uncover why Brighid so diligently avoided him. If anyone could ferret out the truth, it would be that wily, manipulative old woman. His smile came and went at the thought. Dressed once again, he cast a last regretful glance at Brighid and eased open the door.